


Lies Told in Summary

by extradimensional



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Cullen Rutherford, Canon-Typical Violence, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25907749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extradimensional/pseuds/extradimensional
Summary: Mahanon met Cullen before the world started ending. Cullen can't remember their first encounter for the life of him. It's a rather unorthodox start to a romance.
Relationships: Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Male Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Male Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

Mahanon recognized him as soon as they were introduced.

“This is Cullen Rutherford, former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall. He’s acting Commander.”

No, that was a lie. Mahanon recognized him as soon as he saw the Templar fighting off some darkspawn as they fled what was left of the Conclave. But he was a little too distracted by being accused of murder and conspiracy to really comprehend who Cullen Rutherford actually was until this moment.

He looked different. Better, far less grouchy. He had lost that air that all Templars had about them, the one that set your skin on fire and pushed any magic you harbored deep down into your gut.

“Commander,” Mahanon bowed his head. “I’m assuming you’re the one who is going to be executing me if everyone ever makes up their mind.”

“Ah,” Cullen said, unable to tell if this was a jest or a serious statement. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I think you’re far more useful to us alive than dead.”

“Well, at least you’re good with a sword. It gives me enough confidence that if it has to be done, at least it will be quick and not a hack job.” There was certainly room in there for a Templar joke, but Mahanon had taste and didn’t voice it.

“You seem very resolute to your fate for a man who proclaims his innocence.”

He shrugged. “I’m a realist. I am an elvish mage who could be labeled as an apostate. That alone is reason enough to be worried.”

“For you to be worried or for us?” Cullen asked, his pose relaxed considering the conversation. Another change.

“Oh, I wouldn’t harm a nug, Commander Cullen. I’m Dalish after all. I wouldn’t even know the right end of a staff.”

A snort. He’d seen the elf fight some and it was obvious he was far above standard Circle magic. “Cute. Just don’t start performing any blood magic and we’ll get along just fine.”

Manhannon bowed his head again, his hands grasped behind his back. “Me and my neck thank you, Serrah.”

If Cullen was smiling for no reason at all for the next half hour, no one made mention of it.

-

Mahanon didn’t bring it up until a few weeks later, once it was determined that he was innocent enough to stay breathing.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked at the threshold of the war room. Well, perhaps it wasn’t exactly a war room, as that was a rather strange thing for a Chantry to house, especially one such as Haven’s. More so it was a room in which they discussed a war in. It also seemed to double as Commander Cullen’s office, if the scene the ‘Herald’ had just walked in on was any indication.

Cullen looked up from his paperwork, smudges of ink staining the tips of his fingers. His conversations with the elf had been vague at best; small chitchats in between training usually involving questions about the Order. Which was fine, as long as Cullen could keep such answers in the hypothetical 3rd person. “I think we would be in quite a bit of trouble if I didn’t recall the man with a glowing hand, Lavellan.”

“No, I mean from before all this. Before the world melted down to complete and utter shite. Or at least this part of the world.”

The hint of a smirk faded from the Commander’s face.  _ At least this part of the world.  _ “Sadly, I’ve been in multiple places where it felt like the sky was falling. Should I remember you from elsewhere?”

Any hardness in Mahanon’s face crumbled. It was...rather hard to be mad at the Commander, he was learning. And anger wasn’t exactly what he was looking to convey anyway. It was more so acknowledgement that he ached for, perhaps a connection to home, even if it was minuscule. “My clan and the Sabrae traded together often.”

Cullen dropped his quill with a soft tap and the shaking in his hands worsened. Mahanon couldn’t keep his eyes away, couldn’t help but reflexively reach out and still one against the wood of the table. They were so cold, like ice, like a corpse even. It was then that he realized this was the first time he’d seen the Commander without gloves on.

Cullen, for his part, didn’t pull away, though even he couldn’t hide the slight flinch at the contact. The lack of lyrium in his system almost always gave him a constant tremor, but that wasn’t the thing gasping almost all his attention. When was the last time someone had held his hand? And why now, when his past was once again flinging itself onto his back? “You were at Kirkwall.” Maker, of course he was at Kirkwall. How could Cullen be so obtuse? The elf has made no secret of being from the Free Marches, and even if he hadn’t, his accent was the same musical and lithe one that the vast majority of his kind held in the North.  _ Maker _ , Cullen prayed,  _ please don’t let it be that I did something terrible to someone he cared about. _

“Sometimes. About once a year. I was there when that Templar recruit got possessed.”

“Maker’s breath. Please tell me you didn’t witness me—“

“Cut his head off with the Champion?” Mahanon politely added. “Yes, I did.”

“Andraste give me strength, did I not scar you for life? You must have been a child!”

At that, for whatever reason, Lavellan laughed. It caught the Commander by surprise, as it was a sound he had never had the pleasure of hearing before. There wasn’t much to find joy in those days, but the Herald’s voice was as soothing as cool water, and shimmering like a bell. “I was around 16 years. I promise, it was hardly the first time I saw blood or a man dying. It was the first time I saw a dead Templar though. Very impressive, if memory serves me right.”

“Please tell me that was the last you saw of me until the Conclave.”

Mahanon chewed his bottom lip, only noticing then that he was still holding Cullen’s hand. As non awkwardly as he could, he let go and slid his own against his side. “No, we met once more I’m afraid. A year or so ago, but it was far less dramatic so I doubt you remember it.”

Cullen closed his eyes and pitched his elbows against the table. “Oh, do go on, Herald.”

“I was First by then and my clan had made a trade with the Circle. The details are still unknown to me, but we’re a pretty social group for our kind; we get a slew of odd requests. My Common is better than most Elves and I was rather high ranking by then, so I was sent to deliver the goods. For whatever reason, the guards at the Gallows sent me directly to you instead of taking the delivery themselves.”

He suddenly remembered, through the frightfully hazy scope that lyrium had colored everything through back then. Cullen was stressed because of the list of Harrowings that were to take place that night and he still needed to decide who would be assigned as Slayer at each. His eyes were blurry and tired at the time, but then there was a rather tall elf being led into his office by some stuttering underling, and it was so bloody obvious that he was a mage. The amount of power radiating off this person was enough to make the lyrium in Cullen’s veins sing. “I asked you if the Dalish perform any sort of Harrowing.”

“And I responded with something sarcastic about how we don’t need a test on how not to talk to demons. Even though my Keeper strictly told me to keep my mouth shut, lest you never let me out again.”

Cullen snorted. “What were they thinking, sending a mage into the Gallows of all places?”

“It probably didn’t help that I had wanted to go. I’ve always been curious to how Circles work and figured that would be the only time I’d get to see one.”

“And your overall thoughts?” The Commander asked.

Mahanon hummed. “Stuffy. Far too much stone. The robes were extremely ugly and I’m rather not a fan of getting my blood taken and having it kept in a tiny closet for blackmailing purposes. Thank you, very much.”

“Yes, well, I rather agree with all those statements.”

“Really?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

Cullen was caught off guard with just how innocently curious the Inquisitor looked. He had assumed, and not unfairly, that any mage he came in contact with from now until the day he died would feel disdain towards him, perhaps even fear. But Lavellan displayed none of that. It was rather refreshing. “Really. I realize the order needs to change, perhaps even start over, and I know I have made grave mistakes personally. The system is unfair and unbalanced, and— the uniforms are rather unflattering. Mind you, that is coming from me, one of the least fashionable people in all of Thedas.”

“Now, now, Commander. I’m not sure I agree with that statement. To me you look quite—” Handsome. “—Fashionable. I do get concerned over how often you wear your armor though. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of it.” Mahanon really wouldn’t mind seeing Cullen out of it, not that he would admit that out loud for various reasons. One, it was inappropriate. Two, it was embarrassing. He had been off put with doing anything further than flirting since leaving home for one very simple fact: his knowledge of human men was rather limited, and he was afraid someone forgot to mention some anatomical difference between their races; one that he wouldn’t realize until it was too late and far too awkward to ask for directions.

Most importantly, how did his mind even land on thinking about Cullen taking his clothes off? When did he start wanting that to even be an option?

“I like to be prepared for anything,” Cullen responded with a cough.

“Yes, but your poor back. Surely you don’t sleep with a breastplate and bracers on.”

“No, of course not! That would be silly to do all the time.”

Lavellan’s large eyes got comically wider. “You mean to say that you do sleep in it? Sometimes. Is this a shem thing I’m just learning?”

Cullen shook his head, neatly stacking his paperwork back together to keep his hands busy. This conversation had taken a turn that he had not expected. “I would say it is more a soldier thing than anything else. You mean to say Dalish warriors don’t stay in full armor when there is a chance of attack at night?”

“Uh, no. That’s what the watch is for. They’re the ones who stay dressed and on guard while the rest of us actually rest,” Mahanon ran a hand through his hair, unsure of where this conversation was going, or how it could end without embarrassment. This wasn’t his original plan for speaking to the Commander. His eyes went to the small window. “Speaking of, I suppose I should try getting some sleep. We leave early tomorrow for the Hinterlands.” Biting his lip, he turned towards the door abruptly, blundering as he went.

Cullen planned on nodding and turning his attention back to his work, but his eyes caught on the Herald’s back instead. The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them: “Wait. I do. I mean, I do wear civvies on the rare occasions I’m off duty. Which, I usually fill such time with playing chess.” It seemed so off topic now. He should have simply wished the elf good night and moved on. But now it was too late.

Mahanon stopped at the door, his fingers grazing the handle. “Chess?”

“Yes. Have you ever played?” he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to keep his tone from sounding so damn graceless.

“I know of the concept, but I’ve never formally tried it.”

“I could teach you. That is, if you wish. No doubt you’re just as busy as I am, but… Once you return.” Maker, Cullen wanted to gag himself. The look the Herald threw over his shoulder was of surprise as a genuine smile graced his face. He felt his stomach flip.

“Yes. I would like that quite a lot.”

“It’s a date then.” Date. Wrong word choice, surely. Though, technically, one could make a date for a plethora of options, Cullen had many things pre-planned with people, and those were never marked as anything beyond normal conduct, so surely neither would this. Even if he wouldn’t be upset if it was taken as such. Unprofessional as that may be.

“Only if you wear something other than that mantle, Commander.” Lavellan said as he left the room with a wink.

A wink.

Make, did he just wink at Cullen? Was Cullen imagining things? And why did the idea alone make his stomach flutter as if he had a belly full of butterflies?

—

Every bit of Haven was cramped and used. Privacy was somewhat of a luxury, but the way everything was laid out made Mahanon feel a little less homesick. His whole life had been spent between mountains and forests, squished on long treks with the other children of the clan until he was old enough to train to be First. Then he watched as his friends went off to learn to hunt or craft, while Mahanon stayed with the Keeper and learned how to control his magic. Even then, he was never really alone, but the shems did things differently. They valued seclusion and space in a way he had never seen before, and that it was a rather difficult thing to wrap his head around when he had decades of experience doing the exact opposite. No one wanted to huddle together on a freezing winter’s night, no one woke him before the sun rose to see the hunters off, and certainly no one really wanted to sleep on the ground instead of a soft bed. It was fair to say that human space was quite a learning curve for Lavellan.

That was why he found it so surprising when a few days later, Cullen entered the war room with a chess board under his unarmored arm and dropped himself down onto the wooden floor without complaint. Mahanon hadn’t planned on them playing the game here, smashed into the little corner he had found for himself an hour before, but the Commander made no comment about it. “Have you been waiting long? I wasn’t late, was I?” he asked, setting up the chess board.

“No, no. I simply hit my quota of being stared at for the day, so I brought my book in here to read.”

“Ah, I see. Reading anything interesting?”

Mahanon held the battered book up, using the moment to quickly run his eyes over Cullen. He looked far more relaxed than normal. “The Chant of Light. I borrowed it from Leliana just so I could argue with Mother whats-her-name next time she tells me my gods are fake.”

“She’s said that?” Cullen asked, looking surprisingly offended on Mahanon’s behalf.

“I’m usually not a fervent believer in any sort of divine being, but she makes me want to summon the whole damn pantheon.”

“I’m sorry on her behalf. Truly, Mother Gisele can be quite obtuse from what I’ve been told.”

Mahanon tilted his head. Cullen was a ‘chantry boy’, one couldn’t really be a Templar and not be, yet here he was being extremely reasonable about ‘heathenism’. “Never mind the drama that takes place outside those doors. You were going to teach me chess, in your very much not work clothes.”

Cullen cleared his throat. “Right. Yes. Let us start with the basics.”

Chess, it turned out, was pretty simple once you memorized the movements of each piece. The hardest bit was keeping himself on task. Mahanon found himself getting stuck on the way Cullen’s tunic opened just at his throat, and the bit of chest hair that just slightly escaped the confines of the material. This, and his inexperience in the game, was apparently enough to set the Commander up to win the first two rounds.

“Checkmake!” he said with glee, a bigger smile on his face that Mahanon had ever seen before.

“Maker, did you become a Commander just to get better at chess?”

He snorted. “No. My sister and I always played as children and she always beat me and rubbed it in my face. I ended up forcing my brother to practice with me until I gained some skill and the day I finally beat her...Maker, her face,” Cullen shook his head fondly.

“You have siblings?” Mahanon found himself asking. It was hard to imagine him as a child at all.

“Yes. Three. Mia, the aforementioned eldest, then a younger brother and sister.”

“Creators, your house must have never been quiet.”

“Oh, it wasn’t. But I’d imagine quiet isn’t something you find much of in a Dalish clan either.”

Mahanon shrugged, his attention suddenly snapping back to setting up the board again, hoping he’d get it right.“There weren’t many children when I was growing up, truth be told. Once my magic manifested, I was separated from the others quite a bit.”

Cullen’s brows knitted together. “Are you an only child?”

“No. I have a brother,” Mahanon answered, though it was curt enough that Cullen wondered if he hit a nerve of some kind. He decided to drop the subject altogether, but the Herald continued on. “He’s older, but only by a year.”

Cullen watched as the Herald’s ears twitched, similar to a sad puppy. He had never made the connection before, but perhaps he’d never been around Mahanon long enough to learn his tells. Cassandra always had the poor man running off to various places to make contacts or stock up on bloody elfroot. A waste of time in the Commander’s own opinion, but it was likely better to keep the elf out of Haven for the time being. The growing group of people praising him and asking for a blessing as if he was the Second Coming of Andraste herself obviously made the Herald uncomfortable.

“You’re the baby then,” he stated as they began the game again.

That brought a small smile to Mahanon’s face. “Yes. The baby of the whole clan. Well, not anymore, obviously. Everyone grew up, a lot of them are bonded and are having children of their own.”

“But not you?” Cullen asked in what he prayed was an innocent tone. A simple inquiry, nothing more.

“Creators, no. My Keeper was trying to arrange a match for me with some woman from another clan, but this whole war put a halt on it.”

“Arrange. Maker, you must find me so ignorant, but I had no idea the Dalish arranged marriages.”

“It’s not done a lot, but it is done when needed. For instance, Clan Lavellan has barely any mages. They were just about to transfer someone over when my magic manifested. So, in the interest of my people, it would make sense for me to bond with someone who has a bloodline heavy with magic users so we could have tiny little elflings that could set things on fire. There’s only one major issue with that,” Mahanon stated, carefully moving his piece and waiting for the Commander’s eyes to scamper off the board.

“Which is?”

“I’m not particularly interested in women. Checkmate.”

Cullen blinked, his mind whirling between the Herald’s admission and the fact that he may have just gotten beat for the first time in over a decade. “You were lying, weren’t you? You’ve played chess before.”

Mahanon folded his arms, a smile pressed on his lips. He looked happy, and Cullen was suddenly struck with the realization that he never wanted Lavellan to look any different. “No," the elf teased. "I’ve really never played. I’m simply a very good cheater and you’re just very easy to distract.”

_ Andraste preserve me,  _ Cullen prayed _. I’m besotted with the Herald of Andraste. No wonder the Maker has abandoned us. _


	2. Chapter 2

  
  


There was a certain charm to the abrupt and eerie silence that hit Haven a few hours after the sun set. There was always some merrymaking at the tavern after a hard day’s work, or the group of folks who chose to go to the chapel instead and pray for absolution before laying their heads down for the night. But most people actually needed rest, so silence did eventually hit the town, and when it did Mahanon took full advantage.

Sneaking passed the small guard was easy, and no one noticed him as he slinked through the gate and into the barren icy land outside Haven’s walls. He had always found the mountains majestic and relaxing, and always had to fight the urge to keep walking forward and never look back. The farthest he could go was the lake, which was completely solid due to the never ending winter. He’d pace the perimeter of it a few times before laying down in the middle to look out at the world around them, the mountain peaks feeling so close under the starlight that perhaps he could touch them. It became his nightly routine as time went on and he became so distracted, that he didn’t hear that someone else joined him until it was too late. Luckily they weren't there to murder him.

“You’re on a frozen lake with no shoes on.”

Mahanon threw a look over his shoulder, his eyes catching on a fully dressed Cullen. “And you’re back to wearing full armor at 3 in the morning. I thought we had gotten you out of that habit over the last few weeks.”

Cullen chucked, a puff of air displacing itself into the ether. “At least my armor is warm. Feet wraps won’t save your poor toes from frostbite.”

“Please. I can hardly feel the cold,” Mahanon countered, pulling himself up.

“Yes, well. _That_ is my main worry. Are you so against boots simply for the season?”

Lavellan sighed and started pacing to the edge of the water again. “They’re uncomfortable. And bulky. And I can’t feel the ground through them.”

“Is that important?” he asked, genuinely curious as to why that would be.

“To do any sort of elemental magic, it is. It’s a Void of the time easier to cast if I can physically feel the earth somehow. It amps up my mana, I guess you could say.” 

Cullen chose that moment to walk onto the ice as well, albeit at a much slower and gait-er pace. He made sure he had a sturdy hold of himself before taking more than a step or two. “Isn’t that the point of lyrium potions? To regenerate your mana quicker and make spells stronger?”

Mahanon shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never taken one.”

This made Cullen pause, his mouth agape. In all his years of being a Templar, he’d never heard of a mage who didn’t constantly have a potion of lyrium on them. Even in the Circle, it was allowed for all those who’d passed their Harrowing. To know that Mahanon had never partook, even if the mage’s form of lyrium was extremely diluted compared to the type the Order was forced to take, put him greatly at ease.

Mahanon stared at the Commander with confused and concerned eyes as the seconds fell into silence.

“You shouldn’t. It’s ghastly stuff.” Cullen obviously hesitated again, looking lost in his own head. Lavellan inched closer, pushing their shoulders together. It was enough to clear the mental fog and give the Commander a well needed push to keep going. “I don’t take it either.” He thought the confession would hurt him more, but if anything he felt relief, even as he waited for a reply.

“I’ll admit, I don’t know all that much about Templars, but I thought it was mandatory to take it.”

“If only it were just mandatory, then I could have completely left it behind me when I quit the Order,” Cullen admitted.

“It’s addictive then?”

The Commander nodded.

“And yet you’ve stopped taking it?”

Another nod. A gust of cold air blew past and Cullen pushed their bodies a little closer together.

“Will it kill you?” Mahanon asked, not moving away from just how close they were to embracing.

“It should have already. I simply cannot be bound to that leash any longer,” he tipped his head upwards. “You must find me selfish, putting my own wants above what is best for our cause.”

“I find you incredibly brave.”

“I wish I felt so. If anything, I feel weaker than I ever thought possible.” A hand crept into Cullen’s palm and this time he didn’t hesitate to grab hold of it. Even through his thick leather gloves, he could feel the cold seeping through from Mahanon’s fingers. “It just occurred to me that you should be asleep.”

“I could say the same for you, Commander.”

“I don’t particularly do much of that these days.”

“A fellow insomniac then?” Mahanon teased.

“Maker, you have no idea. If it wasn’t for caffeinated tea, I don’t think I’d be able to function.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind making a small ‘we can’t sleep’ club. I’m happy to let you know that you are in fact, not annoying enough to wreck my evening mountain meditation.”

Cullen smiled, his gaze lingering on the outline of their collapsed hands. “I’m truly honored.”

–

“Absolutely not. Sending him into Redcliffe is like throwing him to the wolves! The palace is built to be impenetrable and Maker knows what protections a group of rebel mages have put into place,” Cullen slammed his fist down onto the table. No one batted an eye.

“Yes, impenetrable. You’re correct, Cullen. I must have hallucinated breaking into it during the Blight. My deepest apologies.” Leliana laid a map out, flattening it with her hands and paying no mind to their Commander’s mood.

“It’s a death sentence!”

“Exactly. They know that, we know that, and so we use it to our advantage.”

“So you’re simply going to allow the Herald, our only chance at closing the Breach, to walk directly into enemy hands like a willing sacrifice? I won’t allow it. We should consider siding with the Templars instead. At least they’re not demanding we hand Mahanon over.”

Mahanon, for his part, stood uncharacteristically quiet next to Cassandra. He had made his opinion known and that was that.

“Lucky for us all that we don’t need your approval then. You can stay here and brood, if that is what you wish. As for the rest of us, there are old abandoned tunnels that run underneath the castle. So old, in fact, that they’re not on the current blueprints. Josie found an older map where they’re still shown.” She pointed a gloved finger across the bottom of the page. “We send a few of my spies in through this method and use the Herald as a distraction, buying them time to get into position.”

“You cannot agree that this is a good idea, Lavellan.” Cullen looked between him and Cassandra, but only when his face met with Mahanon did he see the look of pleading so obvious in his brown eyes. Where Mahanon had been unshaken by his decision just moments before, now he felt a trickle of guilt.

“There’s no other choice. The mages are desperate, and that makes people do stupid things. The templars can be dealt with later.”

“It’s not the templars nor the mages I’m concerned about! I’m concerned about---” the Commander’s voice stopped, whether he felt choked or realized what his next words would be, Mahanon didn’t know, but the reaction was all the same. He stood frigid, as if turned into ice and suddenly could not make eye contact with Lavellan, nor anyone else.

“Cassandra will join me. I’ll drag Bull and Solas along as well.” He wasn’t sure if that would offer reassurance or not, but there was little he could do. “We’ll leave at daybreak tomorrow, if that’s agreeable to everyone else.” Mahanon paused. “I’ll be by to speak about your concerns later, Commander. Perhaps we can hash something out to put everyone more at ease.”

Cullen, for his part, nodded solemnly. His expression could only be described as stark, and Mahanon felt bad for the troops that were going to have to handle his wrath for the rest of the evening. “By your leave, Herald. I have work to do.” Not waiting for permission nor recognition for anyone in the room despite his words, the Commander stomped out.

Everyone else stayed silent, perplexed maybe, or nervous in their own right. Mahanon wasn’t sure, but he was feeling rather tired all of the sudden. For once, being in his little shack all by himself didn’t sound all that terrible.

–

“Cullen.”

Cullen whipped his head around at the sound of his name, specifically from _that_ voice. The lack of the crunch of snow put him on edge, and he found himself wondering just how the Herald’s feet weren’t freezing off without proper boots. Though that should be the least of their concerns.

“Lavellan—”

“—Mahanon, please.”

“Mahanon. I thought perhaps you had forgotten.”

The Herald shook his head. “No. I needed to meditate for a while. I’m finally getting the hang of this ‘being alone’ thing you shems are so obsessed with.”

Cullen smiled, but it was at the ground. “I should apologize about the meeting earlier, it was not my place.”

“I disagree. But perhaps we could have this conversation in private? My hut is right through the gates.”

Cullen followed without a word, and together they made the short journey in silence. The little cabin wasn’t much, housing simply a bed, a chair, and a place to stoke a fire, but it was more than most people within Haven were getting. Mahanon sat on the bed, sinking into his spot. The way Cullen paced the tiny space took up almost all of his attention.

“So many things can go wrong,” he muttered. A strange start to an apology that Mahanon didn’t want in the first place. “Constantly. But this. Maker, this feels like I’m—like _we’re_ letting you go and die. What if you don’t come back?”

“I’ll come back,” the elf stated, trying his hardest not to sound like he was pacifying a child. “And if I don’t, you’ll carry on. You’ve survived this long without me.”

“That is the issue. I don’t wish to survive without you. Our friendship is important to me. In fact I had hoped…” he trailed off, a hand shaking into his nearly perfect hair.

“Had hoped what, Cullen?”

“That perhaps this would become more. That perhaps feelings beyond friendship were growing between us. Have I read that wrong?”

Mahanon hesitated, not out of reluctance, but merely to compose himself. He had judged Cullen wrong. Here he was, assuming that if anything were to come from this, Mahanon would have to be the first to push for it, but this confession had caught him off guard. As fun as a cat and mouse game was, it grew old quite quickly when the option of actually getting the prey grew weaker and weaker. “No, you certainly did not read that wrong. I wasn’t sure if you would reciprocate.”

“What?” he asked, genuinely surprised. “How could I not? It would be impossible.”

“Well, I am a mage. A Dalish one at that. That isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.”

“Quite frankly, Herald, I’d be more than happy to burn my mouth on you.”

Mahanon laughed, abruptly stopping as Cullen sat next to him on the bed and grabbed his hand. There was less shaking this time.

“I know there is no other option, but I do _not_ want you at Redcliffe.”

“You’ve given me good reason to rush back.”

The grip tightened. “I’m not joking. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

“I can’t promise you that nothing will. We both know better than that. But I can promise you that I’ll be careful. And I can help give you something to look forward to.” Inching ever closer, Mahanon closed the gap between them, letting their lips press together in a not so innocent kiss. He had expected Cullen to taste like lyrium, even though Mahanon wasn’t exactly sure what that would taste like to begin with. There were so few mages in his clan and the Dalish rarely, if ever, had access to something so foreign as that. But he had imagined it tasted like the color blue. Sweet, tart, enough to make your face squish together. Perhaps like under ripened blueberries. Yet the deeper the kiss pulled them in, the longer his tongue searched Cullen’s mouth, the more lost Mahanon felt, and it became pointless to label the Commander as just one thing.

He only pulled away once his lungs started burning. Panting, Cullen leaned forward as if to chase the elf’s lips. “Maker, I simply don’t have the patience to wait. Can we not take this night for ourselves? That way if the worst is to come, at least there will be this feeling to fuel us.” With no effort at all, Cullen pushed their bodies together, his hand splaying itself right on top of Mahanon’s chest.

“Creators help me, no more poetry. Take all this ridiculous armor off so I can get my mouth on you.” They could back track, he argued with himself. Once Redcliffe was done, they could do this properly. A first kiss that is just a peck, the awkward stage of learning some tidbits about each other, hand holding; all that could happen once they knew Mahanon would survive the week. But right now the need to devour, to feel someone warm against his skin who cared for him, was too intense to resist merely because of the rules of courtship. They were not normal men, and to act like they had all the time in the world was foolish.

So yes, they would have tonight, and come what may tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. Welcome. I started writing this in between watching clips from Dance Moms on youtube because I'm an Adult and am 'Productive.'


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